Perpetually Unprepared
by WriteThisLife
Summary: Are you more Lion or 'Claw? Rebecca Faxton and the Wotters are in for a ride as they navigate a year filled with the most highly anticipated Hogwarts Quidditch match series yet. A story about friendship, first love, ice cream, N.E.W.T.s, crossword puzzles, and some Quidditch. Al/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

A sickening _thud_ resounded through the pitch.

I stood up sharply, certain that the fall couldn't have been good. My eyes searched frantically for a flash of impeccably curly red hair, but this proved to be difficult as she was surrounded in a swarm of gingers—the Weasley/Potters. Sighing, I hurtled myself out of the stands, where I had been calmly observing the Gryffindor team's Quidditch practice and writing my Charms essay, and got myself onto the green of the pitch.

My best friend's pained groans began shortly after I rushed over to the mob of scarlet robes, panting slightly. I could hear my heart in my ears, but I knew it was more out of fear for my friend than it was from the run.

"Rose? What happened, James?"

A stricken seventeen-year-old boy with barely-there stubble and warm brown eyes glanced over at me briefly before answering. He was quite pale, but he was cupping his cousin's head securely, as though hoping that would cure her pain. "I...erm—Rose was doing a drill while waiting to see if Louis'd seen the snitch, and I guess she lost control of the broom or someth-"

"Bollocks," Rose spat out. Everyone stopped murmuring and stared at her intently as she drew in a few long, deep breaths, slowing herself down until her breathing speed was back to normal. She glared daggers at James. "I did not _lose control_. Rose Weasley never _loses control_ , you prat."

James visibly relaxed, his shoulders becoming less tense, and he let out a small chuckle before telling Rose off. Pointless banter was the preferred mode of communication between these two. "Well, you definitely did, Rose Weasley. Rose Weasley needs to find out and accept the fact that some drills won't work for her. Rose Weasley needs to get over herself if she doesn't want to get hurt like this. Rose Weasley is mad."

"And by the way," an affronted Louis said, "I got the ruddy snitch, Rosie. Too easy." I eyed and internally laughed at the fifth year's Quidditch-wild blonde hair. He waved the golden snitch at her, smirking.

The team and I laughed good-heartedly, and even Rose's mouth twitched into a smile. "Just get me to the Hospital Wing, you idiots." Her cerulean eyes flickered around, coming to rest on my face. "Why hello there, Rebecca. Reckon this was better than your usual _Prophet_ crossword?"

I rolled my eyes. "Charms paper, actually. And surprisingly, yes it was, you idiotic, pain-seeking ginger. Come on, I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey."

Rose nodded weakly, seeming to strain the motion of her neck. She waved a hand to her right. "Only if Jimmy comes along, Bex. I want him to see what torture Pomfrey puts me through because of these insane practices he plans."

"Yeah mate, you're, like, the worst Quidditch captain of all time," Fred piped up. Several others joined the Anti-Captain fest—my favorite!

"Yeah! You're being a right tool, Jim!" came the stern voice of Roxy. She was a tough girl—only a fourth-year, but tough as nails. Roxy knew when and how to pick fights—and how to win them. She definitely stood up for herself.

"Oh, please," James said dismissively, waving the complaints away as he bent down to pick up Rose with me. "You'll thank me on Saturday, when we _win_ against Al's poopy face."

"Jim, that was just so eloquent," I said, feigning admiration. He made a face at me, and the pitch was overcome with a new wave of Anti-Captainisms.

"I'm totally telling Dad that you're overworking the team!" Lily shrieked. "And you know what, James? The rest of the fourth years are taking bets on when one of us will get injured, you prat!" Her Beater partner, seventh-year badarse Molly, added a few choice expletives to get _her_ point across.

I took a step back from the scene in my mind. Clear sky, a pitch so green you wondered if it were charmed that way, sharp, clean air, and a highly competitive Quidditch house team made up exclusively of the Wotter clan arguing like hell had frozen over.

I love these idiots. I knew I would from the day I met them all at the yearly Wotter New Years' party the December of my first year. From the start, Rose and I had become fast friends after being sorted into Gryffindor; we're practically sisters at this point. Hugo's a little brother to me too, and the rest of the Wotters are like a massive army of supporters—and comedy—I can look to whenever necessary. It was the greatest gift I never knew I needed when I was eleven years old.

"Okay—just—just—LET'S JUST GET ROSE TO THE HOSPITAL WING, YOU PRATS!" James shouted over the din, and he and I both bent forward to pick Rose up off the ground. As she came skyward, she sniggered at the vein visibly pulsing on James's forehead as more complaints were tossed his way.

"Jim, you are the bane of this team's existence," Molly's voice rang strongly and clearly over the rest.

We were about to turn around toward the castle, but just in time James replied, "You'll thank me later."

"Prat," Rose muttered.

"Sure, call the bloke half-carrying your arrogant arse to the fucking Hospital Wing a prat!" James shot back, and the two exchanged stinging looks.

Cousin love.

"Bex isn't complaining, and she's doing the exact same amount of work as you," Rose said, leaning heavily and noticeably on James and then smirking at the way he grunted with effort. "See?"

"Guess I'm just more ripped than you are," I replied, trying to suppress a bout of laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all. Spot the lie: I, Bex Faxton, the weakling who struggled to lift bags of soil in Herbology, was fitter than James Sirius Potter, the boy who had more abs than most Hogwarts students had O.W.L.'s.

That earned me a patronizing scowl from Jim and an appreciative smile of pride from Rose. "Merlin's balls, I've taught you well."

"I think you mean Merlin's sweaty balls."

"Eurgh, James!"

We were already almost at the doors to the castle. As we dragged Rose over the threshold, four figures made their way towards us. It was the Ravenclaw Quidditch team trifecta—center Chaser/captain, the two Beaters—plus Scorpius, the unathletic one. Essentially, Scorpius is the Ravenclaw version of me.

James growled, seething with sudden anger. "Why, Merlin, why?" he questioned, raising his eyes toward the dusty stone ceiling. "Was the balls joke a bit too much?"

"Jim." Al greeted his brother, then stared at the three of us in turn, lingering with a look of incredulity at Rose sandwiched between us. He started guffawing. "You expect to beat _us_ with your center Chaser injured?!"

"Thanks for the concern for your cousin's health, Albus," Rose spat, throwing him a withering look.

"For real though, Rose. He has a point," Dominique, one of the Beaters, conceded thoughtfully.

"You're pretty much fucked," Patricia Thomas, the other Beater, added matter-of-factly. Rose, James, and I all stared at her as she and Albus exchanged high-fives.

"I hate you."

"Love you too, Jim," Albus chirped, clapping James on the shoulder and making his way toward the door. He suddenly stopped and circled back, but Cia and Dom continued out toward the grounds; Scorpius also lingered. "Actually—erm…Bex, can I talk to you for a second?"

I rolled my eyes at his green ones. "Yeah, let me just completely ignore my best friend who is about to keel over from exhaustion due to"—I gritted my teeth and glanced at James— "overtraining."

"We both wanted to speak with you, actually," Scorpius piped up, and I turned around to look at him. He was fidgeting. "About—erm—Potions."

How absolutely unsuspicious. Not.

"Bex is an important woman and hasn't got time for your schoolgirl gossip. Let's move," she instructed, flipping her red hair and ignoring Albus and Scorpius' annoyed glares.

"No—genuinely!" Albus pressed. "It's about the essay." He took the time to run around and place himself right in front of us, blocking any hope for progress toward the Hospital Wing. Albus studied my face carefully, his messy black hair blocking out the light from the lanterns ahead, before saying, "Are you doing one roll of parchment or one and a half? Sluggy wasn't very clear."

I felt James bristle at once, even with Rose between us. "Oh dear Merlin, this is too much! Take me now! Take me from these two Prefect prissy pricks before they start arguing about the length of their quill feathers next! Take me NOW. Better yet, take us to the fucking Hospital Wing first."

I fought a smile but ended up with a twisted smirk. I nodded my head toward the side. "Come on, Albus. Let us through, I'll let you know as soon as this is done," I added.

"Bex. Babe. Just tell us," Scorpius implored, desperation surfacing on his face. "You know we're the ones who set the standard for grading, anyway."

Rose snapped her neck toward Scorpius. "I refuse to believe that _this_ is what you want to talk to her for." She stared him down, but he glared back resolutely. "You are the worst. And I can't believe that you just called James and me stupid by association."

"Technically, he only called _you_ stupid by association since James is—"

"—in seventh year. Not your year," James finished for Albus, his face torn between enjoyment at tormenting Rose and sports-hatred toward his brother. "Technicalities, Rose."

"Bloody hell, how considerate of you, Scorpius!" Rose suddenly ripped herself from my and James's hold. James and I both cried out in fear, but she was standing strong as ever—not even quivering.

"Are you FUCKING kidding me? You little liar. We could've practiced for two more hours!" James half-shouted. His hands tore at his hair. Even I felt compelled to say, "Rose, you're kind of an arsehole." So I did, my anti-James agenda be damned.

Rose's eyes continued to bore into Scorpius's as she took a step closer to him, completely ignoring us. Just when she was about to say something, Scorpius took a larger step towards her, his nose less than a foot away. James stopped whining and looked blankly towards them, then around at Albus—who was, admittedly, equally clueless—and back again.

"I didn't call you stupid," he said smoothly. Rose emitted a very un-Rose-like squeak, though her face still glistened with rage. "Because you're not. You're the complete opposite, actually."

James, Albus, and I watched the rage on Rose's face dissolve into pure perplexion. "What—I'm—you—"

"I think I should go," he said, observing her with his lips pressed inward as if to prevent a smirk. He shifted his eyes towards me as he backed away from Rose. "Bex?"

"One and a half," I said without thinking, still in a state of shock. What the ruddy hell had just happened?

Scorpius grinned. "Cheers, babe," he said blithely, and sauntered off, casting a half-glance back at Rose before he left.

There was a pause in which Albus and I stared at each other in expressions of equal incomprehension. Then—

Rose whirled around, spat "Where the fuck does he get off?!", grabbed my wrist, and strode me off toward Gryffindor tower…before James got a hold of us.

"I dunno, but you're getting off at the Hospital Wing," Albus told her, helping James drag us the other way.

"What happened to me being a little liar?"

James shrugged. "Just want to make sure you're a healthy liar, is all." I caught his eye, smiling. It was these moments where you see more than the arsehole-prone tendencies Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He made a face at me before looking away, embarrassed to be seen as more than two-dimensional. Classic Jim.

Meanwhile, Rose scowled at the stone floor. Tonight was going to be a fun night of forcing Rose to deal with her feelings—but it came with the best friend code. Especially if your best friend was an emotionally-closed-off Wotter.

"No injuries, Rose. Be happy." I offered her a pint of marshmallow-mint ice cream, which she tore savagely from my hands.

She paused before plunging into the pristinely smooth surface of the ice cream with her spoon, finally meeting my gaze. "I like Scorpius," she stated sullenly, as though declaring the grade she got on the latest Transfiguration exam.

I stared back. "Well, no shit." Rose lowered her eyes to the floor of our dormitory as she broke the marshmallow-mint surface and stuck the spoon into her mouth. "Could you be more obvious with the spluttering?"

"I can't help it—it's a trademark Ron Weasley trait," she said thickly, brandishing her now-empty spoon and narrowing her eyes at me. I rolled my eyes back. "What happened to Miss No Excuses?" I quipped fondly. "You know—not letting anyone get to you. That whole spiel you had when we both got our periods." Seeing Rose acknowledge her feelings—even if it was by a single sentence—was the equivalent of watching a baby bird fly for the first time.

"I suppose," she began, dragging her spoon through the layers of ice cream, "that he's an exception to the rule, Bex."

I raised my eyebrows. "Did you just—"

"Shut up."

"—But, like, honestly," I pushed on, "when did you—"

"Third year."

WHAT.

Rose looked up again from her fifth spoon of ice cream, seemingly intrigued by my lack of response. "I've liked him since third year."

"You've liked him for three years and never told me?!"

Rose sighed impatiently, her blue eyes painting ovals with their paths to and from the ceiling. "Bex, you're my best friend, but that doesn't mean I don't want to preserve my reputation of being an emotionally-aloof, efficient badarse."

"You arse." We exchanged a glance of truce. "I mean, I guessed that you liked him after you saw him on the platform in London. You haven't blushed that hard since you saw the bassist from that band that's always in the _Prophet_."

"Ugh, Robert Tillings. Bless him." She gave me a semi-annoyed, semi-lovesick look. "I hate that I like him. Scorpius, I mean. He makes me stupid, as evidenced by today."

I crossed my arms before asking, "So, what are we going to do?"

"What do you mean?" Rose replied warily.

I sighed. "What are we going to do to get you two together?"

Rose and Scorpius. Yeah, the two sounded words sounded weird with an entwining 'and' between them, but to be completely honest…The two of them balanced each other out. Shockingly. Scorpius is the more reserved, respectful (to a degree), academically-driven one, while Rose is hot-tempered, angry, and driven to be academically acceptable but sportily exemplary.

Rose slowly looked up and gave me the most murderous look possible. "Rebecca, no."

"What's the point of you getting all worked up about it if you don't even _try_ it out?" I asked, joining her on the floor. "Come on, Rose. What's the harm?"

"No."

"But—"

"Rebecca. No. Just leave it," she said firmly. "Let me just…field things out before you drag me into doing something drastic, alright?" 

"What is there to field out?!" I exclaimed, and she gave me an exasperated look. "No, seriously—we've all known each other for six-odd years, so—"

"That may be true, Bex, but that doesn't mean that he has ever even seen me that way!" she told me earnestly. Then, she turned back to her ice cream before continuing, "Besides, I'm not even going to think about it until _after_ this Saturday. The match, you know."

"Which one? The one you and Jim've been harping on about since the start of term?" I asked mockingly.

"Yeah, that one," Rose replied dryly.

I leaned back against our roommate Cecily's bedpost. "You know, this isn't going to stop me from gathering information from Scorpius."

Rose shook her head at me, her face steely with annoyance. "Merlin, I _knew_ you were going to go there."

"Well, we _are_ pretty good mates, so—"

"Exactly, Bex. That is exactly my point," she said suddenly, her eyes ablaze with the energy that comes from knowing you were right. " _You_ are good friends with Scorpius. _I_ am not." 

"Because you never associate with anyone outside of the Quidditch circle, Rose!" I cut in. "Except for me. And like two other people. For example, whose bed is this?" I quizzed, motioning my head behind me.

Rose did her best to try to look like she wasn't thinking hard. "It's—erm—Louisa's, obviously," she said lamely.

I stared at her, my eyes widening. Dear Merlin. "Cecily's! We've shared this dorm with these girls for over five years, Rose!"

She grimaced. "Damn. I hate it when you're right." She offered me a spoon of ice cream for consolation; I took it, shaking my head at her.

"Who the fuck is Louisa, anyway?"

"Some character from a Muggle show on the telly my Granddad babbles about."

We choked on laughter and ice cream.

So it turned out that Rose hadn't even started the Potions essay.

At eleven P.M., I took pity on her and trudged down to the common room to see how (badly) she was doing after an hour's worth of work. There was a trail of discarded parchment radiating at least four feet from her spot at the maroon sofa, where she was scribbling furiously with pure hatred in her eyes.

"You look like you're having fun."

"I fucking hate this. So much." Not even pausing from her essay, she sighed noisily before continuing, "Who in the fuck even comes up with this—this _shit_? Who cares if unicorn hair and arrowroot powder are the most potent ingredients in whatever this essay is about?"

"Probably the people who benefit from taking it as an antidote," I said dryly. "Because it, you know. Saves their lives and all."

"Oh, cry me a river," Rose spat.

"That's _exactly_ what Al and them'll be doing on Saturday!" James's jubilant voice greeted us before he plopped himself on the gold-and-red striped couch opposite Rose and next to me. He glanced over at me. "After the match, of course. Gryffindors aren't pre-match bullies."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Jim," I said sweetly. He smiled sarcastically at me before turning to Rose. "Oi. What are you working on?"

"Potions," Rose said flatly.

James glanced at me confusedly. "But Albus was done with that hours ago."

"Well, bully for Albus," Rose snarled. To be fair, she was covering her ground well; it looked like she only had half of a parchment roll left to complete.

"Isn't that supposed to be really long, though?"

"That's what she said!" Speak of the devil. Al joined us on the striped couch, sandwiching me between him and his brother.

"Truly inspired, Al," I sniped, and turned towards him. His green eyes, crinkling at the corners from his grin, met mine, and I suddenly realized how close in proximity we were. His eyes flickered down my face for a moment before I scooted involuntarily towards James.

"But—oh, Bex, you smell nice, kind of like that flowery shit Victoire puts on—I thought you said you were finished with coursework before practice!" James continued indignantly.

Resolute as the stone walls themselves, Rose continued scribbling and didn't look up. "Well, guess what, James? I fucking lied."

" _Why_?"

"Because I wanted to train and not write this stupid thing."

"Why couldn't you do it _before_ training?"

"Why couldn't you go get shat on by the Giant Squid before training?"

James seethed in silence next to me.

"Albus, how did you get in here? They just changed the password." He raised his eyebrows at me. "I'm part-curious, part-trying-to-get-them-to-stop-talking-about-Quidditch," I fake-whispered. I watched the fireplace flames dance in the lenses of his eyeglasses.

He sniggered, then leaned forward off the couch to nod his head towards his brother. "Old Jim let me in." He paused, exchanging a mysterious look with James. "Old favor."

"Stop pretending like you're part of the Marauders," Rose said in her flat voice that she reserved for Potions.

"Well, he's _not_. That title is reserved for Molly, Fred, and I." James's chest probably had higher pressure than a balloon at the rate it was being puffed out in pride.

"Nah, come on, mate—Ted and his friends were the _real_ second-Marauders," I said. "Be reasonable."

"Right," Albus chimed in. "Besides, he and his mates did way cooler stuff than you lot are doing. No offense."

"No matter when people say 'no offense,' offense is always bloody taken, Albus!" James said, shifting in his seat to glare daggers at his brother. "And you're lying. You're just jealous—"

Albus waved his hands in exasperation. "Oh Merlin, please James, not this again—"

"—that I'm more prankster than you."

"If you really were a prankster, you'd be funnier than that. And wouldn't have to try as hard."

"DONE!" Rose exclaimed, brandishing her parchment rolls in the air and sending her ink bottle flying in glee. "Oh, shit—can you guys siphon that away?" She stared regretfully at the ink sluggishly sinking into the carpeted floor.

"Are you a witch, or not?" Albus asked slowly. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

"I'm bloody tired!"

"You'd be more tired if we practiced the full time today," James muttered.

"Okay," I said forcefully, trying to prevent a cousin showdown as she turned toward him. "Shut up, you two. Rose, just do it."

"Fucking no! Make Jim do it."

"I'm not doing a spell for you that a two-year-old could probably bloody manage—"

"Why not? You fit in much better with that age group mentally, anyway—"

"Good Lord! _Evanesco_!" Albus proclaimed loudly, then proceeded to pelt a balled-up piece of Rose's discarded parchment at her. "That's for procrastinating for the umpteenth time."

Rose simply rolled her eyes and began collecting her things from the sofa and table. "I don't even have the energy to torment you right now."

"Well, aren't we all just so very blessed." James blew out a huge sigh and stood up. "Hey. What was with you and Scorpius earlier?"

I casually looked around at Albus, trying to read his face. He looked calculatedly unphased and locked eyes with me. I pursed my lips, trying to look as non-chalant as possible.

(It wasn't working, was it?)

"What do you mean?" Rose said in an off-hand voice, now stacking her books on top of a smaller table a few feet away from the sofas.

"You were just…" James looked around at Albus and me, seemingly for inspiration for the words he was lacking. Al shrugged, and I remained impassive, looking innocently back at James. "A bit odd," he finished lamely.

"Maybe that's because I almost died at practice today," Rose replied, looking James straight in the face.

James scoffed. "You didn't almost _die_. You might've almost broken a good many bones, but what else is magic for?"

"Promise me that you'll stop abusing us," Rose said, sinking down onto the maroon sofa again until she was completely lying down on it. "I swear I saw Lily about to cry."

"She does that whenever she gets passionate about something," James replied casually. "And good on her, getting passionate about the match."

"I can't tell if you're a worse brother or captain," Albus said with true wonder in his voice. Rose snapped her fingers approvingly.

"I'd call it a tie, honestly." James glared at me in response. "I guess we'll all have to wait until Saturday to see which one of you two is the better captain, though."

Rose smirked maliciously. "The test of the century, with the two biggest idiots at the forefront. Amazing."

"Not going to lie, Ravenclaw is on form this year," Albus said proudly, leaning back into the sofa. He shifted his neck to look at me. "What d'you think, Bex? You've seen both of our teams practicing, yeah?"

I felt the pressure of six eyeballs burning into my skull. "Erm. Well, it's hard to be objective, you see—"

"That means we're better," Albus stated, grinning widely. "You said that because of Rose."

" _No_ ," I said firmly. "Because so many of my other mates are on Ravenclaw."

"Like who?" Albus asked exasperatedly.

"Like _you_ , dimwit," Rose answered for me, throwing a pillow at him. "You two are the nerdiest of us all. Nerds always nerd it up together."

"Truly, truly nerdy," James continued. "The type of nerds who worry about O.W.L.s when they're third years."

I gaped at him. "Hey! That's not fair. We were just—"

"I will never forget the day," Rose gasped, for she had just begun guffawing, "when Albus and Bex marched up to Professor Sprout and asked—asked—" Apparently the memory was too much for her to handle because she collapsed into giggles, motioning James to continue.

"—asked whether dragon dung was an approved fertilizer for O.W.L. graders," James wheezed, equally breathless with laughter.

I stared at the pair of them. James struggled to move over to Rose's couch for a high-five, clutching his stomach while laughing hard.

"And just like that, they're back to normal," I muttered.

Albus nudged me. "We were pretty nerdy, weren't we?"

"Still are, Al." I felt his fingers tap the part of the couch I was leaning against. I turned towards him. "To quote James, we're Prefect prissy pricks."

"Sounds about right."


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up to a string of curses being muttered carelessly from the bed behind mine in the dormitory.

"Merlin's greasy beard, where in the shit are these fucking pieces of leather glued together by particles of fucking magic and bloody enchanted thread?"

"Rose?" I croaked, my voice scratching through my unstretched vocal cords. I was pretty sure I sounded like a merman. "Shut the fuck up, will you?"

"I would if I could find my fucking Quidditch gloves!" she hissed back, continuing to rummage through her things. I heard our other four roommates begin to shift in their beds, clearly being disturbed by Rose's monologue and search for her gloves. Rose noticed; I watched her shadow on the floor briefly pause before hearing her say a little more clearly, "Sorry, girls…I promise I'll be in and out—I just can't find my—"

"Gloves. We got it, Rose," Cecily cut in a bit sharply.

I heard a sigh so deep it had to belong to no-nonsense Irene. "Did you check the bathroom, Rose? You tend to leave your Quidditch shit in there."

"Yeah, I did, Irene. No luck there…"

Silence ensued, punctuated once again by random noises of Rose searching through her belongings or softly uttered "fuck me in the arsehole"'s.

"Rose, it's six fucking A.M.," stated Millie, clearly pissed.

"Actually, it's five til. Don't blame me, blame James," Rose said bitterly. "Wanker."

"A hot wanker at that," Cecily muttered.

I heard our four roommates begin to murmur in agreement. "I guess I can't argue with you there," Millie replied, sighing. "Abs of _steel_. And his eyes—"

"This is disgusting! Shut up! You guys are supposed to help me hate on him because of this stupid 6 A.M. practice!" Rose snapped.

I heard the sound of a pillow being thrown angrily against a bed. "Rose, have you ever heard of the spell _Accio, Rose's Quidditch gloves_?" our third roommate, Iris, spat. _Thwack_. Gloves met Iris's hands, which then threw the gloves at Rose. I could tell from the sound that, had not Rose been an amazingly trained Quidditch player, the angry throw could have bruised or made her fall.

"Erm. Yes. That was quite stupid of me…Thanks, and sorry, Iris," Rose said quickly. "I'll bow out, then—wish me luck surviving this!"

Unenthusiastic grunts were the response. "Don't die, Rose. Make me proud," I murmured, already shifting back into the warm, warm sheets.

"Yeah…Wait—why aren't you getting up?" Rose questioned, pausing at the doorway and lowering her voice.

My head was so heavy with sleep that I couldn't even form a coherent thought other than a hazy question mark. "D'you mean?" I asked blearily.

She moved toward my bed so I could hear her better. "You have patrols this morning," she hissed. "Prefect patrols? Remember what those are? You said the other day that they started at 6 in the morning."

I felt as if a lightning bolt had struck my every nerve. "Well, fuck me."

Rose ripped the blankets off of my body, and I cowered into the fetal position. "Come on, Bex. The Prefect life didn't choose you; you chose _it_."

"You were just waiting to use that on me, weren't you?" I muttered back, now jumping up and tripping into my robes.

"Ever since that fateful day before fifth year," she replied, and finally exited the dormitory.

Merlin. I couldn't believe I had forgotten about patrols this morning. I headed straight for the bathroom. After I was done with the toilet, I hurriedly brushed my teeth, washed my face, and stared back at the mirror. An olive face with a few red, bumpy stress zits and panicked brown eyes glared back at me. I glanced at my slightly wavy brown hair and quickly braided it back into a hasty milkmaid's braid, fingers stumbling over each other messily. "You're so fucking late," I breathed, watching my mouth form the horrible words.

I couldn't afford to be late to this. I wanted to be Head Girl next year so much that it hurt; I needed every extracurricular position I could get in order to even have a chance of being accepted to Healing school in the next couple years. So, accordingly, my future depended on a domino effect of achievements: first, becoming Prefect in fifth year, then sixth year, then getting Head Girl, and not to mention upholding my grades to be fit for Healing school…and then, obviously, O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s…I suppose I wouldn't have to try so hard for Prefect if I had even an ounce of hand-eye coordination and had gotten a spot on the Quidditch team, but what can you do.

A minute later, I skidded out of the dormitory and began to run to the second floor corridor I had been assigned to. Come to think of it, I had no idea who I would be patrolling with; Professor Ingle had asked whoever who was willing, out of the sixth year Prefects, to volunteer. Of course, I volunteered just to make it perfectly clear that I was intending on giving Head Girl a go for next year…for better or worse.

My heart was exploding in my ears as my stomach gave a clenching twist as I ran. This is why skipping breakfast never works for me; I was too accustomed to my daily feast of toast, tea, and a muffin in the Great Hall. Minutes later, I was bounding down the stone hall leading to the actual assigned corridor. As I rounded the corner, I slowed into a brisk walk, not wanting to look totally idiotic in front of—

"Bex?"

Albus? "Er—" Even this sad excuse for a word was swallowed by my wheezing cough as I turned away from Al to hack up my lungs into my shoulder.

When I was done, I turned back around, only to find him to have walked into my arms' reach. He, unlike I, looked well put-together; the only way you'd think it was six A.M. and not ten was by his tired-looking eyes. His Ravenclaw-navy tie was crisply laced around his neck, outlined by a clean white shirt. Even his hair was its usual state of messiness, not at its wild Quidditch levels. "I didn't know you volunteered. But wait—where's Professor Ingle?" I asked quickly, my mind bouncing in a million different directions, similar to my heaving chest. I was still a 'little' breathless from the sprint.

Albus snorted. "Probably still sleeping. I went to his office there—" he pointed to the offending door down the hall "—and he had written instructions on a piece of parchment that was tacked to the door." He paused to take the piece of parchment out of the inside of his robes, then glanced up and down at me. "By the way, are you okay? You look very—windswept," he finished kindly.

I braced my hands on my hips and looked into his face, my own mouth collapsing into a grin. "Ha, nice save. I had completely forgotten about this until…" I trailed off, smiling again as I watched his emerald green eyes crinkle from a smirk. His eyes were very bright and friendly.

Wow, I definitely needed breakfast. Or a sharp blow to the head. "You know what, I'll tell you the, ah, thrilling story in a second—just read that first."

Al nodded and shifted towards me so we could both see what Professor Ingle had written. Our shoulders brushed together while he unfolded the parchment. He felt pleasantly warm, reminding me from the bed I had forced myself from. I resisted the urge to lean into him. "To Miss Rebecca Faxton and Mister Albus Potter: Thank you for volunteering for this patrolling post, though I have no idea why you would do such a thing at this absurd hour. The reason I've asked for Prefects to patrol this morning in the first place is because there have been some complaints of the ghosts 'accidentally' causing some messes early in the morning, and thereby affecting the mornings of students like yourselves. So, please patrol floors two through five for two hours, as classes begin at eight A.M. I will, clearly, not be joining you. Regards, Professor Killian Ingles," Albus finished. He peered down at me, raising his eyebrows. I stared at his mouth as one of its corners pulled up into a grin.

What. Are. You. Doing. I hitched up my gaze to his eyes a millisecond later, willing myself to invent something to say. "So, not too bad, eh?" Okay, better luck at being witty next time. Or even intelligent.

"Yeah. Shame it's for two entire hours though." He hadn't moved away this whole time, and instead flicked his gaze from one of my eyes to the other. I felt a hint of adrenaline punch my stomach.

Hungry. I'm definitely hungry. For food.

I swallowed, the brightness of the lanterns suddenly pricking my peripheral vision and snapping me back into the task at hand. I stepped away, casting my gaze toward the open corridor, and took a few steps forward. "Might as well get started," I said, sounding more alert and generally with-it than I felt. I hate not sleeping. Or eating. I glanced back at him, my right foot stretched out ahead of the other. "Ready?"

Al smiled, and I felt like my digestive tract was being jinxed with a dancing spell. "Ravenclaws are always ready. Get it? Alliteration. Muggle grade school paid off."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to start talking about the match."

"Of _course_ I'm going to start talking about the match, Bex!" he replied, laughing. He was now in step with me. "I'm the bloody captain! _And_ I'm going head-to-head with my—"

"Brother," I cut in. "Yes. Do you write the morning announcements with these taglines, or are you just compulsively aware of them?"

We looked at each other, and that second of time froze itself. It was just us two nerds rooted in the stone floor, exchanging smiles over a conversation full of jokes that ninety-nine percent of the school wouldn't appreciate or would think were lame. I felt a mad urge to step closer and put my hands on his shoulders, toned from Quidditch and all lean under his robes.

"Neither—have you heard of Rita Skeeter?"

 _CRASH_.

I blinked. The moment was over. Albus had already turned towards the source of the noise, eyebrows stretched upwards in surprise. I too turned and whipped out my wand simultaneously.

It was Peeves. The poltergeist was already zooming away from us, clearly thrilled with how well his evil plan had turned out. "Is that…" Albus said chokingly.

"An everlasting rainfall of Thestral dung?" I replied. I watched the mud-brown cascade of excrement pour down from the stone ceiling in mild disgust. "Yep."

We stepped nearer each other almost involuntarily, transfixed at the sight of the dung. We were shoulder-to-shoulder once more. Maybe it was my steadily building anger-borne adrenaline that made me tilt my head close to his and mutter, "Aren't you glad I wore perfume today?"

Somehow, Al and I managed to stop whatever jinx Peeves had put on the dung, cleaned all the literal shit up, and made it back to our respective dorms a few minutes before class was to start to change, as our clothing was now foul-smelling. I still am not sure how it took the better part of two hours; that's Peeves' pranks for you. Oddly, we emerged onto the Transfiguration corridor for our joined Gryffindor/Ravenclaw 8 A.M. class at the exact same time, coming from our different common rooms.

Al smirked as we strode towards each other. "Fancy that. Those who clean up shit together are on time together, I suppose."

"How poetic. Give Shakespeare a run for his money, yeah?" I said, laughter breaking through my words.

His eyes crinkled in response. He turned to open the Transfiguration door. I glanced down at my watch: 8:03. Could be worse. Head still turned down, staring at the shining clockface, I collided with Albus' torso, my head knocking into his chin sharply.

"Agh—erm—Open the fucking door." I pulled away and looked into his face. He was suppressing a laugh.

"You underestimate my chivalry," he whispered in a mock-lofty voice. "After you, Bex." He slowly creaked open the Transfiguration door.

I was immediately greeted with the severe, piercing gaze of Professor McGonagall. "So very kind of you and Mr. Potter to grace the class with your presence," she said sharply. Her eyes flew to Al, clearly searching for any discernable trace of wrongdoing in his expression.

"We were on patrol," he replied, handing me the parchment we were reading earlier. I walked towards Professor McGonagall and handed it to her. Her eyes slid rapidly down the note.

"Thestral dung. Jinxed by Peeves," I whispered as loudly as I dared. I heard a muffled snort of laughter from someone in the class (probably Dominique), but Professor McGonagall thankfully didn't seem to notice or care. She looked up, her eyebrows raised in what could only be described as a mixture of surprise and reserved pity. Professor McGonagall flicked her eyes back to Al and nodded.

Abruptly switching gears, she leapt back into the lesson, walking briskly towards the front of the classroom. We took that as our cue to find our seats. "As you know, I have your exams graded and ready to pass back to you all." She uttered a spell just as Al and I sat down; exam papers began to fly towards the appropriate student. "Some were quite good. Exceptional, really. Others"— she paused, eyebrows contracting—"will require serious revision to come back with a passing grade for the class."

I slipped into the seat beside Rose's just in time to see Rose's grit teeth framed by a grimace before she unleashed her red hair from behind her hair, making an effective curtain to mask her face. Well, that's not good. Frowning slightly at what this might mean for Rose's mood later, I flipped over my own essay to glance at the grade. _Exceeds Expectations_. I'll take it; this was a N.E.W.T. class, after all.

During the entire class, as I was taking notes, I couldn't help but notice markedly different behavior from Rose: she was taking notes.

Rose Weasley. Taking notes.

Rose. Weasley. Taking. Notes. Which is a form of paying attention. During a class.

The rest of the hour passed quickly due to my heightening incredulity at the productivity happening beside me. I was so used to Rose doing anything but actual schoolwork during a class that I was sluggish in my own note-taking. Which is also unheard of.

No one else in the class was slacking off, though. Sixth-year N.E.W.T. Transfiguration was, to put it delicately, hard shit. In past years, even O.W.L. year, I had been able to get the hang of a spell within the class time, but this year was different. The only way I could perform an incantation correctly even _once_ was by practicing on my own for a couple of hours. That, on top of all the other homework we were being assigned, made all of our schedules completely full. I don't know how people on the Quidditch team did it.

I zoned in on the final five minutes of the lesson, when Professor McGonagall was assigning a 4-foot essay on human transfiguration. I flipped to the chapter in our textbook on the topic, as I had completely not paid attention during class—and it was forty-odd pages!

Grimacing, I made my way out of my seat as the rest of the class whizzed by me, making me dead last. My foot was barely five inches from the classroom threshold, the previous student's robes already swishing out of sight, when I head McGonagall's crisp voice. 

"Faxton—a word, if you please."

I slowly turned around, utterly confused. "Erm—" I stepped forward cautiously; McGonagall remained rooted in her prim stance by her desk. Her expression was completely unrevealing. Deciding I'd rather not guess, I asked slowly, "Regarding—?"

She cut me off by flicking her wand; the ancient oak door swung creakily for a long moment, betraying its heavy weight, and then swiftly clicked shut.

Professor McGonagall stared at me calculatingly before breaking the silence. "You did quite well on the exam, Faxton."

I was not expecting that. At all. "Erm—really?" I asked, genuinely surprised. I mean, I had only gotten an E on it. "It was a low pass score, Professor."

There was a shadow of a smirk on McGonagall's face as she replied, "That may be so, Faxton, but keep in mind—that was the first examination of the academic year for a N.E.W.T.-level course." She looked at me appraisingly over the rim of her spectacles as I stood there, smiling slightly at the rare compliment. "Your exam performance," she continued as she turned away to search something on her desk, "coupled with your amicable demeanor with your peers, allows me to make the judgment that you are fit to tutor a few select students of mine."

I beamed in the seconds she was still turned away at her desk. First off, the very fact that she was even approaching me with this was enough to send me over the moon. And then there's the little thing that she's one of the Heads of Houses…and a very respected witch in the Transfiguration field…

My heart started swelling with hope—maybe there was a chance that I could make it to Healing school after all!

A sudden ruffling sound brought me out of my reverie; I switched my full-on-beaming grin to a slight smile. "Here we are—the list of students I was mentioning," McGonagall said. She paused and then stared at me in an almost-glare. "Perhaps you will realize the importance of what I'm asking you to do after hearing these names."

Well, that's not ominous at all.

Her eyes returned to the scroll of parchment as she started to read the names aloud. "James Potter, Fred, Roxanne, and Rose Weasley."

My grin was wiped clean off of my face.

McGonagall glanced up at me, her lips set in a thin line. Reading my shocked face, she continued, "Yes, Faxton. I am asking you to tutor the four most crucial members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

Tutor the Keeper and Captain, right Chaser, left Chaser, and center Chaser? I was speechless. My mind, however, was dictating a dissertation.

I actually really liked teaching—it always felt incredible to help someone else learn, and as a bonus, teaching solidified my own understanding. McGonagall's list of students, though, made things complicated; teaching my peers is fine, but when those peers are _friends_ , people can get testy. Competitive natures are unleashed; egos are hurt, but that somehow makes them even stronger; and friendships are put to test. Classic example—Rose getting pissed that anyone knows more about magic than her. James getting pissed about the exact same thing. And based on those two, I can only assume that this hotheadedness is present in the rest of the Wotter clan.

Bottom line: the Wotters are my family, and Rose is my best friend. Was it really worth it to put most of my most important relationships in my life at risk?

It might sound overdramatic, but that's how important they are to me.

Some of my consternation was probably showing on my face—I tend to be an open book, anyways—because McGonagall's expression morphed into a rare one of pity. "I understand what position this puts you in, given your social circle. However…" She paused, and looked at me sternly. A silent understanding seemed to be exchanged between us. "It's for the best—not just for my team," she added hastily, "but for their own lives. Their careers." She left a pointed silence.

She means James and Rose's sports careers. No pressure or anything.

I sighed. I already felt overwhelmed, but I think I had decided what I was going to do from the moment McGonagall had told me what she was requesting of me. "I would be pleased to be James, Fred, Roxanne, and Rose's Transfiguration tutor."

McGonagall looked barely surprised; I don't blame her, given how close I am with the Wotters. So this was more of a test, then. As if in answer to that thought, she gave me a rare smile. "Excellent, Faxton. First session will be tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock—no time to waste."

I smiled tightly. "Yes, Professor." She nodded, and I considered myself dismissed.

As I rounded the corridors throughout the castle on my way back to Gryffindor tower for the remainder of our free period, I was starting to feel more and more trepidation about what I had just signed up to do…and the worst that could happen. I rolled my eyes at how ridiculous I was being—it would take a hell of a lot more than Transfiguration to break three 6-odd-year friendships. But what if my tutoring didn't work, and I cost them their careers?

At that moment, I felt the warmth of sunlight on my right cheek. I looked over and found myself next to a huge, open window overlooking the Quidditch pitch.

And guess who was playing—during the only free hour we had during the day, no less! (I didn't want to know how the younger students, like the fourth years, were able to practice this early in the morning. Some tinkering by James, I was sure.)

I huffed out a chuckle at the universe's timing and leaned my shoulder against one of the sides of the gray stone window. I watched seven scarlet bullets whip through the air, fast as ever, as they worked through team formations. I saw a head of unruly black hair fly in a dramatic circle and stop suddenly; a whistle sounded. Little captain speech, I assume. Play resumed about five seconds later, and I was once again privy to the team's insane talent.

That's it. I'm going to make them the best damn Transfiguration students McGonagall has ever seen.

"Trying to send them some vibes to improve their horrid form, eh?"

Butterflies attacked my stomach. "Albus," I greeted, not even turning around. His smirk was palpable in the silence. I finally turned my head towards him, locking eyes. Sure enough, he was smirking an eye-crinkled smirk at the Quidditch scene below. But I saw a competitive fire in his eyes too. "Gryffindor's on _fine_ form today, mind you," I told him.

He rolled his eyes. "Ha! Good joke, Bex. Who needs Healing school when you can just start your own stand-up at the Leaky? Give the people what they want—nay, what they _need_!" As he was speaking, he had come progressively closer to the other side of the window…and I had become progressively more and more out of breath from laughing. Me, doing stand-up. Right.

I laugh _way_ too easily.

I composed myself enough to choke out, "Your immature humor is too much for me today, Al."

"Well, why's that?"

"It's been a bit of a rough morning," I muttered, focusing on the Gryffindor team again. Seconds later, we both groaned and winced as a Chaser—likely Roxanne—swerved and narrowly avoided a collision with a Bludger.

"Looks like they're having a rough one, too," Albus chortled. I whipped my head around to glare at him and maybe even fake-yell at him, but the words died in my throat when I saw the way he was leaning against the window and how the sunlight perfectly lit up his face, his jawline sharply casting his neck into the shade. In other words, he looked like he was straight out of a _Witch Weekly_ photo ad, which wouldn't be nearly as funny if he wasn't featured in paparazzi pictures in that magazine every other week.

Hey, Merlin? Yeah, Bex here. When did I start liking Albus Potter? Please send answer by priority owl.

"I see your glare, Transfiguration Queen," he said nonchalantly, though his gaze hadn't moved from the Quidditch pitch.

Ugh, shit. "Hardly a queen," I said, half-laughing. Alright, how was I supposed to stop this from developing into a wildfire if Albus thinks what I think he's thinking?

"McGonagall only talks to star student royalty in private, didn't you know?"

Breaking news—a wildfire has broken out in rural Scotland. Attempts to contain it are ongoing. "Oh, please! She was telling me about how I needed to write more legibly in my exams from now on," I invented wildly. "Hardly royalty, you idiot."

He finally met my eyes and sauntered over to me until there was roughly a foot between us. "You'd be a terrible journalist, Bex—making up stories really isn't your thing, is it?" He smiled. "Truth looks better on you. I think I know what's going on, anyway," he said confidently.

Annoyance cut through my panic. "Oh, you do, do you?" I said testily, crossing my arms. "And what would that be? Some conspiracy theory, I'm sure?"

He laughed. "There are no conspiracy theories in Quidditch, darling. Just strategy." He crossed my arms, mirroring me. "And I think I've just figured out one of the Lions' biggest flaws."

"Think what you'd like, Albus," I said quickly. "You're being ridiculous. Good night."

He raised his eyebrows. "Bex, it's 9:30 in the morning. Our free period."

Dear Merlin.


End file.
